Poetic Justice
by Chiisai Mu
Summary: When his humanity and his demonic nature come face-to-face, will his human half have the ability to hold his own? Or will his demonic half take control and ruin the life in the human realm that he himself had a part in creating? Shounen ai. REPOST.
1. Prologue: My Riddle

Poetic Justice

Warnings:  
1) Shounen ai.  
2) Possible OOCness, but in this case of the person involved, no one has ever seen his true persona. You'll understand later.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters belong to someone else. Plot belongs to me. Everything else is debatable.

Special notices:  
1) Reposted in original text.

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My Riddle  
Prologue

Sheerly for the fact that I'm not here, but I am, I can't elaborate on _what_ I am. I cannot elaborate on _who_ I am, because there is no what that I am. And, to be a scoundrel about it all, I'm not going to tell you why I'm here either. But, of course, I'm not here. I already told you that. So, tell me, what could I possibly be that is here, but not here, is a something that couldn't possibly be, and have not a purpose of being but still exists? I'd tell you, but what fun would that be? That is my riddle that I beg of you to answer before my tale is done.

Ah, but I told you I'm not saying why I'm here. No, telling this tale is not why I'm here. This yarn is merely a formality, a hope that you will be enlightened in a sense to enable you to know what I am. Perhaps you will, perhaps you won't. Who am I to tell, especially when I have no identity? I am a faceless name, a word with no meaning, a thought without elaboration, an ever-changing creation that always remains the same. I am incomplete, but very whole. A contradiction, you say? I'm one of those as well. How could I not be? You are as well, because you are human, and demon, and animal, and plant. You are matter, so you are inherently a contradiction in and of yourself. But that's the fun of things, isn't it? To have a variety of resources and tastes, to be able to see through several eyes and understand at least two points of view. And you can't not understand at least two, otherwise you would be one-dimensional, which I am positive that you are not.

However, I am not here to discuss your shortcomings or your advantages, your _being_, if I may be permitted the use of such a broad term. I have digressed, because I am to tell a tale, to spin a yarn, to convey the knowledge of a peculiar event to you. And this particular event centers around a very infamous four-tailed fox spirit and his human form. Youko Kurama and Minamino Shuichi. Of course, both of them go by the familiar name "Kurama," if I'm not mistaken, which I know I'm not. Don't call me conceited until I prove myself to be, as we've only begun.

For those unfamiliar with his tale, Kurama was a fox in his first life, left to his own devices at a young age and quickly taking to the art of thievery during the centuries that he was excessively bored. Yes, _bored_. He did this for fun, the little rascal. I use the term loosely, as mischievous is often belied as malicious, and vice versa. As, on normal circumstances, a rascal is mischievous and really intends no harm on whoever the trick is played upon—should there be merely a game and nothing wholeheartedly malignant—this four-tailed fox had a habit of forcing his toys to insanity and laughing about it. He was not much of a fair player, really. And this, his trade, was merely a way to pass the time between his playmates and twisted games.

"What kind of games?" you must surely be asking. Why, I should hate to give away that kind of detail so early in this telling. I don't hate to, but I still won't say. As I already told you, I'm a bit of a scoundrel. Although, "wicked" does seem to understate it a tad.

This fox, the protagonist of our tale—as well as the antagonist, but I won't tell if you won't—made his living as a thief, as previously noted. He slipped on a tree root one too many times, despite it being the first time done, and caught himself at the wrong end of a bounty hunter's rifle. He had a magnificent run, but fate has a way of paying back double what is owed to her. Thievery has its price to pay, you know.

But—here's the part where you gasp—this fox did not succumb to fate! Oh, how aghast fate must have been at such a turn of events. He dashed away from the body that was so nimble, so beautiful, and ran for the human realm. He sank deep into the womb of a human and felt his fox limbs disappear into the tiny embryo of a growing human, pushing away potential souls from having the home they deserved for coming into existence. He'd had his chance and he'd blown it, they exclaimed. He'd died and deserved such a fate. But did this fox listen? Oh, no. He was safely tucked into the womb of a woman that would sacrifice her blood for his. How unfitting that—this coward of a soul, this thief and murderer, this creature so easily detested for acts unthinkable in the human realm—this fox would find a womb within a mother that would care for him so lovingly.

Now, follow closely. We have a murderer and a thief, a fox spirit. Stripped of his tails and bore furless before the towering numbers of human witnesses, he faced the human world, his human mother at constant watch, not because she feared his behavior, but because she feared that harm would come to him. He was a cold-hearted, ruthless, cunning demon in innocent, kind, intelligent human form.

Make much sense? Didn't think so.

However, as the years blew by in a wave of schoolwork, friends, acquaintances, enemies, attacks, motherly love, random demons, and all that he would have had to contend with to earn his place in this human society and avoid getting killed to boot, this fox found love. Please, do avoid jumping to conclusions. I'm not talking about romance love, or puppy love, but a family. _That_ love. If I recall correctly, which I most certainly do, his words to a friend were, "I was a son who loved his mother."

Ah, the plot thickens, yes? Shall we do a few semi-mathematical calculations? Murdering, thieving, diabolical fox spirit turned human **plus** loving human mother that would shed her blood to save his **plus** living a decent life with _proper_ morals **equals** humane fox thief with a sense of judicial actions, plots, thoughts, et cetera.

However, there's something definitely missing from these calculations, if I'm not mistaken. Again, I'm not. Where in there does it claim the fox had compensated for his wrongs in his previous life? Where does it say he learned his lesson? If you point to the "et cetera," I will laugh at you. That in no way means he got retribution.

Ah, but the end has yet to come. He encounters not just a fire demon infamous in the demon realm as he himself had been before death, but he meets with—who else?—the spirit detective of the time! This brings about too many odd occurrences to count, including his being dragged into missions for the spirit world and not one, but two tournaments that he could very well have met his end with. Yes, he entered the second by choice, but that's beside the point, isn't it? Yes, it is.

With these happenings taken into consideration, we're going to say they balance each other out. In previous years of his human life, he did nothing to tip the scale either for or against him. This translates to this: he hasn't been a thorn in anyone's side, but he hasn't taken it upon himself to earn redemption either. So, in the face of his crimes—theft, murder, and all that he'd become an expert at doing in his previous life—added to those things done to atone for that—work for the spirit realm, being a decent influence on others that severely needed it, working for the betterment of human kind as a whole—he'd remained about even throughout the next few years.

Again, no sign of atonement in sight. No punishment for the silver, four-tailed fox. Sad, isn't it? All because fate has a tendency to be increasingly vicious the longer she has to wait for payment. Humans call her karma, and they call her fate. They call her fortune, and they call her destiny. Really, it's all overrated, because one sentence sums up all her qualities and characteristics. Fate is, in a word, a _bitch_.

So, with that cleared up, I should move on to the tale itself, as I'm sure you're all about fed up with my sauntering down memory lane. Please, bear in mind what all I've told you. Keep with you the knowledge that his previous life and his current form were so completely opposites that it's hardly possible that they could be the same mind, albeit true. Because two personalities are sure to collide. And the fox will get his retribution.

Please, follow me. I'm sure it would be much simpler if you did so, as these forests of the mind are often akin to a maze. Wouldn't want you to get confused, now would I?

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**Author's notes**: _By all appearances, it looks like Youko Kurama had four tails. I don't know where I got the idea, but I had previously been under the delusion that he has seven. Where did that come from? I must be going stupid..._

_"I was a son who loved his mother."_ — quote taken from the translated, American-sold manga

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I'm posting all the stories that I took down. Some of them I'm rewriting, some of them I'm already satisfied with at this point in my writing ability. This is one of the latter. I hope the old readers have as much fun with it as before and the new readers find something that they didn't anticipate and wholeheartedly enjoy. = D

10:15 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Saturday, 31 January 2009.

Have a new day.

Ai  
_Chiisai Mu_


	2. Recollections

I forgot to mention before. Kudos to anyone that can figure out who the narrator is. More hints in the epilogue, but I can tell you that he/she/it isn't a canon character. Can't make it that easy for you. Ha ha.

Special notice: Reposted in original text and form.

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Recollections  
First chapter

The air was cool with the setting of the sun. The sky above was a brilliant orange just after the glowing disk had reached the point of hanging on the horizon, so close to falling off that it seemed to sway with the breezes. Or maybe that was him. He'd been lounging in a tree for almost an hour and was so close to drifting into a slumber that his eyes were beginning to refuse to remain open. The air around was too full of life, though. The cherry blossoms had just come into season, littering the score of trees with pink and white petals, which hid his form very well from whatever spectators came to view the blooming season, which was so painfully short. That was his reason for sitting there, seeing the petals from the other side and catching glimpses of random ones falling away prematurely. These petals were ephemeral, fleeting things that had piqued his interest as fleeting things often did.

There were no cherry blossoms in the demon realm.

The fact set aside, they were beautiful and he adored them. He'd been climbing the trees every year since he'd been old enough to walk, alarming his mother the first time he'd done so. She beckoned him down with some semi-frantic waves of her arms, but he'd been far too young to have trusted her at the moment. It took the arrival of a police officer, a man far taller than his mother, to pull him from the branches, kicking and screaming as if the touch of another set his skin on fire. He very much respected his space and his privacy, so upon being extracted from the tree, he'd gone into a sulking and pouting fit, inconsolable. That is, he was inconsolable until his mother had conceded to letting him sit on one of the lower branches—one a short distance from the ground that she could easily steal him from, but high enough that she could sit under him and catch him should he lose his balance.

Upon sitting among the cherry blossom petals, he had given her shadow a look and wondered what she'd been planning. He hadn't trusted her and surely couldn't be expected to think she had only his health and safety in mind. He scoffed at the memory often, wondering why he'd been such a fool in his younger human years. Perhaps that his demon mother hadn't cared for him so diligently. He couldn't account for his actions. His thoughts were different now. He'd known then, when his demon mind had been consumed in carnal thoughts and instinctual responses, but human compassion had infected his mind and he no longer pondered the things that were so common in the human world with the contempt and confusion he'd once born them.

Human life has affected him so drastically, he thought. Not in some areas, as fighting and survival, but in thoughts and feelings, he was a different person than his nearly two decades deceased counterpart. It had not quite been two decades, but it was closer to that than to one by a little less than three years. And, as life had moved on, as the trivial toils of human life bore their weight on his patience and temperament, he found himself often—of all things with the advances in human technology and methods of meaningless entertainment—bored. And he rued his human life dearly, as his human conscience kept his thieving tendencies at bay. He'd never agreed to a conscience when he'd inhabited this human body, when it had been nothing but an insignificant speck within a woman's womb.

And all thoughts of such things ceased as he stroked over the memories of his human mother. She was the cause of this transformation of his, the changing of his demonic ways to those of a rather subdued human boy. A rather intelligent, handsome, intuitive human boy. He couldn't deny that he was one of the better of the humans in existence, nearer to perfection. His physical form was a gift granted by fox instinct's cleanliness and parental genetic combination to form very attractive features, of all things; all of it was very out of his control, really. But the mind behind those stunning emerald eyes, his own very beautiful face, was that of a clever fox thief in hiding. Lying in wait he was, because there was no way for him to leave this human form behind, now that he'd grown accustomed to the love of his human mother. He craved it, like an addiction, and he would have it at whim all he could until that love had dried up and his mother was forced to the crematorium.

After that, he didn't know what he'd do. He could only hope that the life of this human body of his—his life—was greatly calmed by then and he'd found another to shower him with such affections. Not motherly, necessarily, but now that he'd known this love that humans shared, he wanted it. He desired this unconditional affection that would have others shedding their blood to preserve his. Though, the concept of sacrifice was very unappealing, because he would grow to respect this love others gave him and detested the idea of forfeiting it just to avoid a few measly wounds. Physical wounds healed and, thanks to preternatural demonic abilities, left few scars. Emotional wounds didn't always heal and, if they eventually did, they left noticeable scars that would never be covered away without an unhealthy dose of denial.

Then what? Well, that was the unanswerable question always ringing through his clever mind. Even someone as intuitive as he couldn't discover the answer. And he surely wouldn't degrade himself into asking another. He was a mite too proud for that avenue. And he had reasons to be proud, many of them. He was, in spirit, the fox thief of the demon realm, careful and witty, calculating and sly, devious and cunning, one of the most exalted (criminal) figures of the demon realm in his time. But even he, this creative and curious fox thief, couldn't deduce what was to happen to him after his human form expired. Would he return to demon form? Or would he simply die and face Koenma from the awkward side of the desk?

There were so many questions about human life that were impossible to answer. And the greater majority of them were echoing in his mind, acknowledged by one that wasn't even human. Not anymore. After his first decade in this form, his demon energy had rekindled and transformed his human form into that of a demon body. In some respects, anyway. In the idea that he was powerful and healed quickly and was resilient, he was demon. In the idea that his life span was short, and he was subjected to emotion, and life was hanging the threat of eminent death over his head, and he was more trusting and taken easily from his demon instincts, he was human. In that he had become accustom to luxury, and he was slowly growing a little lazier because of technological advances, and his guard was hardly raised in his little city home, and he had allowed two _outsiders_ into his den—and one of said outsiders to lay in his mother's bed—and he had not hastened to kill a demonic threat in his junior high school years—and endangered a friend in doing so—and he had made friends, he was human. In that he was steadily becoming weaker, he was human.

Cursing under his breath, the fox thief's eyes flashed gold with irritation. Life was easy here. He was becoming lazy and weak without the fun of his heists and his escapades. He was losing contact with the demon threat he himself had once been and subjected himself to guarding _humans_ against those that would have once bowed before him and trembled in fear of his unnaturally ruthless whim. "Unnatural" because he was intolerant of failure, stupidity, and mistakes. He had little patience with any of these things, just as any storybook villain would. And, as said villains were often "unnaturally" cruel, or "unnaturally" vicious, he must have been as well. The thought brought a little smirk to his lips as his mind set returned to one that was characteristic of his former life. _'I am a comic strip villain.'_

But, of course, that was not where his thoughts finished, as he couldn't be just _any_ villain. He was the crème de la crème in every endeavor he sought. He was the main antagonist in this particular comic, he was that abrasively difficult obstacle to overcome, he was the omniscient character that could have no possible flaws and did whatever he so chose and got away with it. Of course, normally that would last until Mr. Hero arrived and saved the day, but not in this fox's reverie. Mr. Hero was a pathetic little human urge deep inside to remain decent and compassionate. Mr. Hero was a feeling inside that meant little to his corrupted morals and couldn't phase him. Unfortunately, Mr. Hero had the fox's human mother as back-up. However, that couldn't be considered a real effort. That was more like taking a hostage and holding her trust and confidence in him over his head. Mr. Hero was a coward, but the winner nonetheless.

_'Damn comic book hero types.'_ But it couldn't be helped. It was a rule of thumb in the world of fiction and theatrics. The "good guy" never loses. The good guy could die in the process, but in the grand scheme of things, the good guy always wins and takes the victory over whatever attempts the evil force had contrived against the world. In the fox's eyes, it was a pretty biased, prejudice way of going about things. It's always the ones with firm morals and an unhindered sense of justice that won out in the comic book world, it seemed.

The fox was fortunate—or perhaps contributed to the fact—that the same did not apply to the real world. In reality, crime did pay. In reality, rapists and murderers walked the streets. In reality, he was loose among groups of humans, hampered only by his attachment to his human mother. The lies humans spread around were only to allay the fears of the children sleeping under their roofs, to assure them that the _toori akuma_ wasn't going to snag them by the ankles and drag them under the bed, there to be devoured in their soul's entirety and left a lifeless shell of human flesh and bone.

So, that was his true nature. To be the villain. In no way did he look it, in either of his forms. In his human form, he was the polite, quiet, intelligent boy of almost eighteen years and well on his way to a very prosperous life. He was cool of temper and had wisdom in his eyes, despite his apparent lack of years. He looked so very innocent in his human life, beautiful and somewhat often mistaken for a female, though not quite enough to drive him into cutting his hair and wearing more male-oriented clothing. In his demon form, it was plenty to say he'd been mistaken for an eastern rendition of a Judo-Christian angel at first glance. An angel he was not, however he couldn't help but look it. That did well to lower another's guard enough that murder was as simple as a flick of the wrist; not that it wasn't when another was armed, but without a weapon to pass through, there was no risk of causing harm to his whip.

People sauntered away as the sun finally descended the remaining few centimeters between the horizon and nonexistence. Street lights flickered to life and the quotidian plethora of noise of the night life began to creep up on him. The cherry blossom trees were losing their sun-brightened beauty as the artificial light sent shadows in places that were not meant to be with them. The light was not meant to be so dim, just as the petals were not meant to be so shaded. This was a crime against nature itself, these lights flashing by as motorcycles and cars screamed by, the smoke that tainted the air, and the shadows that skirted the petals of the cherry blossom trees, if they didn't envelop them completely, that is. This was the most serious of crimes that the fox would not commit, this violation of the beauty of nature itself. But he didn't move to put a stop to it. There was no way he could eliminate all of the problems these humans created and, by indulging in their technology, he was a part of the problem, albeit a rather small one. And, as humans so often said to get donations to charity or some public-funded organization, if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.

Humans were so very obtrusive. That adage was a logical fallacy. There were ways to not be a problem, but refrain from acting at the same time. However, many humans weren't so skilled at keeping their noses out of the business of others, but this was hardly practiced, as far as the fox could see. Humans were little thorns that caught themselves in each other's sides, intentionally or otherwise, and they always would be. Not that there weren't demons of the likes. But humans had turned it into a refined art.

With a sigh of the night air, the fox hopped down from the tree branch he'd been sitting on and looked around himself, gaining his bearings on location and direction. He was facing east, toward the rising pregnant moon, but he had to head north. He pivoted to the left and joined a group on the sidewalks, folding into the ranks of humans with such ease that it was unsettling. These people were completely oblivious to the monsters in their societies, to those that could so very easily slaughter dozens of them without a care or drop of perspiration fallen. The proverb "Ignorance is bliss" truly did apply to humans, as it allowed for their peace of mind and comfort in that they didn't know about the lurking danger that had a countenance so liken to their own. However, bliss was not prudence, and failure to recognize obvious danger could end that bliss of theirs so very quickly, before the eye had a chance to blink, before a final breath could be stolen from nature, before it registered in their mind that they'd died.

But these were not meant to be the thoughts of a boy nearly come of age, were they? He was meant to be the innocent Minamino Shuichi, was he not? Of course he was. But what he was supposed to be didn't matter, because he wasn't. Minamino Shuichi had never entered his human body. Minamino Shuichi had never come into existence because the fox thief Youko Kurama had taken it upon himself to continue living. So, he couldn't be the innocent Minamino-san, could he? Because he wasn't Minamino-san; he was Kurama. And he'd be damned if he'd have it any other way.

_'Tokyo is a lonely city...'_ the fox thief thought to himself. And he knew very few people that would agree. Surely his human friends and relatives wouldn't, as they often partook of the amusements of the city. Yusuke and Kuwabara had the time of their lives in Tokyo, hassling each other, picking fights, and generally making nuisances of themselves. Keiko went shopping with Botan and Yukina in the city, laughing at their personal jokes, feminine observations, trivial musings, and whatever else would extract giggles from them; it wasn't difficult, if one knew how to do it. Genkai would say the city was boring, as opposed to lonely. Koenma rarely went there when he wasn't barking orders at Yusuke, so he'd lack an opinion. Virtually, the only person left was...

"Hello, Hiei," the fox muttered as the fire demon emerged from the forest of cherry blossoms that he'd apparently been catnapping in and came into step with the fox. Honestly, the fox couldn't say whether or not Hiei would agree that the city, Tokyo specifically, was lonely. Kurama would place his money on Hiei dubbing the area as merely aggravating and, of all things, fetid. Most cities were, with cars and such running by nearly at a constant, with sewers and people, perspiration in the summer and dusty coats and hybrid scents of humans huddled together to keep warm and perfumes mingling in the winter. Not even the fragrance of the cherry blossoms could mask the fox's sharp nose against the putrid odor of human life and abundance.

Although, not even the humans around could steal away the fox's ability to catch the scents on the wind, those of rain and wind and snow. Snow was not to come, but the evening would bring thick tides of precipitation. That in itself explained why Hiei had cared to show himself to Kurama, though not really why he'd chosen to do so early in the night. The rain was a good hour or so away, the fox surmised, meaning the fire demon could enjoy another short while of the cherry blossoms' scent, as opposed to the odors lingering around Kurama's bedroom, ones that he'd lived with for so long that he could no longer catch them. After basking in his own perfumes, the fox couldn't understand some of the complaints the fire demon had uttered occasionally, being oblivious to them as he hated being. It was a great wish of his to be able to catch all things around him, to be able to distinguish scents and find them as familiar, instead of writing them off as such and never noticing as they lingered nigh, possibly leading to something that was out of place or anything of the like. Being immune to a scent could be dangerous.

Turning his gaze to the right, the fox ignored the path he took—only watching it through peripheral vision instinctively—and cast his gaze to the pregnant moon. It was a creamy, tawny color, beautiful against the ebony sky, despite the shine of artificial lighting that gave the horizon a superficial, disgusting gleam. Despite the human technology, the fox—carefully using a demon realm language that he knew Hiei would recognize, but no human would—commented, "Beautiful night, isn't it?"

"It's going to rain," the fire demon responded flatly, using the same language that no human would be familiar with. His gaze turned to the moon the fox had taken a shine to, seeing that in two days it would be completely full. The fox he'd befriended had a strong fondness for the moon and the night, having always been someone akin to darkness and the arcane. Surely he'd grown attached to the night because he'd been a thief, as filching things as an individual or in pairs was often done under the cover of darkness; unlike heists in groups, which were merely rampaging into a city and grabbing what was on hand. There was no need to hide in those, as it was difficult to mask an entire group against a city's defenses. Throw caution to the wind and thieve whatever tickles your fancy, that was the plan in groups. Individual heists normally required forethought and premeditation. That was the only form of thievery that was truly art.

With a sigh, the fox turned his eyes back to the crowd walking ahead of them. Again using a foreign language, Kurama stated, "The rain is majestic, Hiei. I don't understand why you abhor it so. Being wet is only a setback in a small number of ways." He gave his emerald orbs to the fire demon. "Unless, of course, it is a phobia. Then, that would be understandable."

"I'm not afraid of the rain, and I'm not afraid of getting wet," the fire demon ground out a little too firmly. He glared at the fox for his brazen assumption, earning himself a benign smile and an understanding look. He truly wasn't afraid of water in any way, but that didn't mean he had to like it. And he didn't necessarily hate it, he just didn't want to be wet when, for one, he would be caught in a tree. Many humans thought it to be an inconvenience to be caught in a storm with no shelter, so there was no excuse to discredit a demon's similar opinion. For two, he had no change of clothes. And it would be simply humiliating to have to borrow clothes until his dried; he could have invoked his fire to dry them, but that always ran the risk of burning them and being left without any clothes at all. Again, that would be humiliating. For three, the most significant of the points, the rain washed away the scents of animals around him and left the landscape clean until new trails were formed. That was why he didn't like being caught in the rain, because there was a fair chance that a demon could approach unnoticed and attack while his sense of smell was nullified. But the fox persisted in thinking he was hydrophobic.

Not daring to comment further on such a touchy topic, the fox's gaze returned to the moon. "My mother is home, so you'll have to come in through my window." The fire demon quietly growled that he knew that, his temper stoked further by the fox's presupposition that he was an oblivious idiot. He wasn't Kuwabara, the fox knew this. "I was merely reminding you."

"I do not need to be reminded." His memory was like a spider's web. He had conscious recollections from infancy, even. He'd been capable of conscious thought without the childhood delusions of bumps in the night and Mother always being around to protect him. He hadn't had a fortunate enough childhood to be able to run to a parent and complain of fear, much less being able to let that fear go unchecked. Unfortunately, it wasn't a common practice to kill annoyances as much as it was to destroy threats and fears, so the fox kept his head on his neck, in lieu of in a small wooden box, cremated, with the rest of his ashes. Of course, that was only a passing fancy, entertained because of a morbid fondness of death and destruction that his black dragon nursed very lovingly. It would leave soon enough and the dragon would give him a fiery silence that burned another hole in his soul, just as his soul was seared every time he summoned the dragon. If he didn't tighten his already stringent holds on the dragon, he would end up with little soul left when he died, but he didn't have the faintest clue on how to gain more control. It was up to fate to see his soul through, he supposed.

"Reminiscing?" the fox inquired softly, shattering Hiei's thoughts like a pane of glass. His crimson gaze turned to the redhead to see a clever smile on his lips. A hand rested on Hiei's shoulder and he was turned, moving down a new path and toward a quicker walk to Kurama's human home. The fox would enter through the front door and declare he was home as Hiei climbed in through a window and threw his boots to an old shoe box in the closet. He would rest against a corner in the room and fall back into his light slumber, his attention always half-alerted, even while he wasn't awake. He would only barely be conscious of the fox quietly slipping into the room and changing into pajamas before falling under his covers and going to sleep, not once daring to switch on a light that might wake Hiei up. This was routine, as it happened every time it would rain, when Hiei arrived in the bedroom before Kurama did. Should he arrive afterwards, he would slip in soundlessly through the window so as to not wake his host. Either way, not a sound was made beyond that door to disturb either one, and only the subtle tapping of raindrops on the window pane made enough sound that could be perceivable to human ears; and this one noise only helped to lull the demon pair to sleep.

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**Author's notes**: _No, there's not going to be any Kurama/Hiei fluff. I absolutely detest that pairing. I'll read it, but I hate writing it._

_toori akuma_ - aka "akuma" aka "ma"—Japanese monster that brings bad luck; doesn't necessarily devour souls—not that I'd know—but I'm being flexible with the myth  
_hydrophobia_ - hydro **equals** water; phobia **equals** fear of : hydrophobia **equals** fear of water—I say this because it's not in my dictionary and may not be in yours

A different narrating style, but if I continued with the convoluted circles of sentences, it would take forever to get anything said. Ha.

Hope you enjoyed.

3:30 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Friday, 13 February 2009.

Ai  
_Chiisai Mu_


End file.
